Игра престолов

Arya

           Aryawassostartledshealmostdroppedherbundle.Shelookedaroundwildly,buttherewasnooneinthestablebuther,andthehorses,andthedeadmen.

           Quietasashadow,sheheard.Wasitherownvoice,orSyrio’s?Shecouldnottell,yetsomehowitcalmedherfears.

           Shesteppedoutofthestable.

           Itwasthescariestthingshe’deverdone.Shewantedtorunandhide,butshemadeherselfwalkacrosstheyard,slowly,puttingonefootinfrontoftheotherasifshehadallthetimeintheworldandnoreasontobeafraidofanyone.Shethoughtshecouldfeeltheireyes,likebugscrawlingonherskinunderherclothes.Aryaneverlookedup.Ifshesawthemwatching,allhercouragewoulddeserther,sheknew,andshewoulddropthebundleofclothesandrunandcrylikeababy,andthentheywouldhaveher.Shekepthergazeontheground.Bythetimeshereachedtheshadowoftheroyalseptonthefarsideoftheyard,Aryawascoldwithsweat,butnoonehadraisedthehueandcry.

           Theseptwasopenandempty.Inside,halfahundredprayercandlesburnedinafragrantsilence.Aryafiguredthegodswouldnevermisstwo.Shestuffedthemuphersleeves,andleftbyabackwindow.Sneakingbacktothealleywhereshehadcorneredtheone-earedtomwaseasy,butafterthatshegotlost.Shecrawledinandoutofwindows,hoppedoverwalls,andfeltherwaythroughdarkcellars,quietasashadow.Oncesheheardawomanweeping.Ittookhermorethananhourtofindthelownarrowwindowthatslanteddowntothedungeonwherethemonsterswaited.

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